by Vivien Vale
No—for succeeding to run. Thanks to Jack, I’ll be harder to track than ever now.
I owe him my life, and as a result, my thanks.
I just wish the best thank you I could give him wasn’t leaving without a word.
Buck stands at the door, whimpering softly. I can tell from his little doggy whine that wherever I’m going, he wants to come along.
He probably knows what an idiot I am and wants to keep me safe.
“Sorry, buddy,” I say softly, pushing him back with the toe of Jack’s over-sized boot. “I have to do this on my own.”
I can hear him scratching at the door after I close it. I hope he can forgive me.
I hope Jack can, too.
For the first time in my life, I’m finally faced with reality.
You can’t always get what you want.
Jack
Chop-chop, don’t stop.
It's one of those simple sayings. One I picked up when I was a military man instead of a mountain man. The sayings from those days are simple, but they often involve complex concepts.
Concepts that have to apply to a lot of different situations. Concepts that almost always mean life or death.
This saying, though—chop chop, don't stop—it's a little less life or death and a lot less complicated.
It’s a mantra I repeat to get myself in the task and stay there.
Chop-chop, don’t stop.
Because if I stop, I’m gonna start thinking about her. Thinking about her and her lithe, naked body. Her gorgeous blue eyes looking up at me in fear when she realizes what I want to do to that body. Her lips parted in a scream so wide I can fit my cock in it.
So. Chop-chop, don’t stop.
I swing the tool down with all my might, the blade piercing through the thick block of lumber. The crack of the ax resounds across this patch of woods. Hearty winter birds flutter away from the noise.
I repeat my mantra, out loud, with a twist:
“Chop-chop, and don’t you even think about stopping.”
I’ve already gotten a late start, and the mantra isn’t helping my output. Neither are these thoughts about Avery. The meager pile of firewood sitting in the snow looks pathetic.
So I swing the ax harder, and the cuts I make keep getting deeper. I take all my sexual frustrations out on every fucking log I set up for myself. I split each of them cleanly in two.
In the same fucking way I know my big, hard cock would split sweet little Avery in two. In the exact same fucking way.
“Don’t stop.”
This is my task, and I can’t stop.
I can’t rely on anyone but myself out here, and fumbling can lead to a wasted day. I wouldn’t have lasted out here as long as I have without understanding a few things, and one of those things is that I cannot afford to waste a day.
Can’t afford to waste a day being lazy.
Can’t afford to waste a day anguishing over her.
I grab another frigid, frosty log with both hands. I haul it off the ground and throw it at the chopping block with a mighty grunt.
The impact sends another loud shot of sound through the trees. The birds brave enough to stick around this long take this as a sign to scatter, maybe realizing that migrating south for the winter isn’t such a bad fucking idea after all.
The frustrating log doesn’t stay in place, because that would make things too simple. Instead, the stupid piece of timber slides off the block and falls silently to the snowy ground.
Whether I can afford it or not, this might as well be a wasted day.
Any day is fucking wasted if I’m not between Avery’s pale thighs, pumping her full of my hot seed and showing her exactly what a real man feels like.
I’ve wasted every fucking day of my goddamn life.
Unlike the urbanites and mansion dwellers who skim through this area in their limos and their SUVs, in my heart of hearts I know this area isn’t merely the woods.
It’s the forest, the wilderness, and it’s detached from civilization’s comforts and protections. That’s why I’m truly on my own out here.
That, and because when faced with another human being—especially one as innocent and pure as Avery—I obviously can’t contain the fucking monster in my chest.
Or, for that matter, the one in my Levis.
“Chop-chop, don’t stop.”
That’s better.
But there’s nothing left chop—I’ve chopped it all.
I swing the ax around with one hand and slice the blade right into the chopping block. It rests there firmly, with the handle sticking out at a perfect angle.
That’s somewhat satisfying, even though it’s yielding no more firewood.
The snow surrounding the small pile of wood is melting. It’s already well into the afternoon, and the sun’s at its peak. But winter days are short here, and pretty soon that sun will be sinking over the horizon, out of sight for the evening.
I look in the direction of my cabin. Built it myself. With just this axe and my own two fucking hands.
As far from humanity as I could get.
After seeing things that no human should see, I’ve tried to run far away from being human without looking back.
It was working, for a while. Denial’s easy when you’re by yourself. Nothing to remind you except memories you could shrug off as false recollections.
Coming face to face with certain things, certain people, there are parts of myself that are getting very hard to deny being there. Though I try, denial has a limited shelf life and in one way or another, reality creeps in.
Either that, or it crashes in, tumbling down the mountainside clad in a wedding gown.
I’m wasting time and energy. It’s like I’m trying to turn myself into the Tin Man, a wood chopping automaton with no heart. I wish I could get lost in monotony. To rid myself of emotions, escape from the shadows hounding me at round the clock.
I throw the last few pieces of lumber on top of a cache that’s probably enough to last me through next season. If you take a look at it, you’d think I’m building a fortress—or maybe a wall—from this huge pile.
I couldn’t care less, though, since I don’t feel a drop of satisfaction.
How arrogant am I to think I could spend the rest of my life here on my own?
I mean, I could have, but not anymore.
Not since I met Avery.
I know it’s more than just the isolation—this is the first time a woman, or anyone, has made me feel this way.
People crave the presence of another person, no matter how much you like to keep to yourself. I could have been okay for another few years, or decades, out here in the wilderness. But I wouldn’t be in denial; I know that healing—becoming whole again—would be out of the fucking question.
I won’t say I’m healing now, but Avery’s not just inspiring lust in me. She’s inspiring something in me that I wrote off long ago. Something real, something human.
I’d be a fool to pretend it’s not there and just let it go.
If I don’t acknowledge the first human connection I’ve felt in years, I’d probably never forgive myself. If I’m worried about wasted days, I could see myself not even bothering with the basics like food and warmth. I’d just sit in the cabin all day, a husk of what I could’ve been.
Yeah, that’s pretty much what I am now. But maybe, I don’t have to be anymore.
Maybe, all I need to do is stop hiding, which would mean telling Avery everything.
Everything.
I didn’t think anything could scare me at this point, but everything does. The word, that is, because everything includes the whole story.
A story that still runs through my head most days, and most nights—whether I remember my dreams or not.
It’s a story I cannot run away from, because I’m carrying it inside me and I keep it well-protected.
And it threatens to consume and control me like the toxic, alien thing it is. This could be my chance to stop protecting it, to take away its pow
er. If I’d take that chance. If I trust her enough.
If I tell Avery anything, then I need to tell her everything.
When you carry something heavy around for days, like a tactical backpack stuffed with gear, you eventually start getting used to it, even forgetting that it’s there. But then, inevitably, out of nowhere, you’ll suddenly start feeling every ounce of it weighing you down, and you realize you’ve been bearing that weight the entire time.
That’s what I feel right now: every bit of what’s weighing me down. I need to unpack it.
In my cabin, less than a click away, is the person I want to help me start unpacking.
I leave the ax where it is in the chopping block, and the wasteful woodpile where it is in the snow. I start back to the cabin in a brisk jog.
Chop-chop, don’t stop, Avery’s there now and you’ve got no more time to waste.
I start running faster when the cabin comes into sight, my boots kicking up snow and slush from the ground.
This feels like an emergency, something I can’t let wait another second or it’ll vanish. Avery’s there, right now, and I need to tell her everything.
I’m not scared of that word anymore. It’s starting to feel like an itch you long to scratch. The faster I reach her, the sooner I’ll feel relief.
What do I tell her first? That I fucking want her, of course. But how do I put that into words?
Once I see her, it’ll be clear. The words will come to me, all of them.
I stop at the cabin door, some hesitation coming back.
Honestly, I don’t know how Avery will react. It’s a lot for anybody, especially after what she’s been through.
I harden my resolve and decide I’ll start by telling her how I feel, even if I’m not sure myself, then figure it out from there.
I open the door gently and walk inside. I damn near trip over Buck as I do it—damn dog is curled up on the doormat, looking upset about something.
It looks like the cabin is empty.
“Avery,” I call out, although I know it’s in vain.
I look quickly around the cabin, but Avery is gone for sure.
I look at my dog, and my dog looks back up at me with the exact same expression.
Well, fuck.
Avery
It was a dumb idea, and I feel even dumber now for following through with it. I’ve seen Jack outside in this blizzard, and he looked like he was doing okay. I’ve seen him outside in this weather without even putting a coat on!
Some part of me must have imagined that I could face this cold just as easily. That maybe I’d get out into it and the storm would calm down, leaving me trudging along with ease until I was out of the proverbial woods if not the actual woods.
It turns out that the blizzard’s just getting started, and I’ve never been so deep in any type of woods in my life.
The flurries aren’t constant, but when they come it’s like a blinding, impenetrable white wall. The flakes are big and fluffy, falling slowly but accumulating quickly. The snow’s almost up past my legs, and every step is a giant trudge.
The melted bits from the storm’s little intermission earlier evolved into a layer of dirty slush, which has since frozen into an unpleasant mire of dirt and ice—all mixed in with the embankments of snow surrounding me.
The current flurry, as intense as it is, is starting to exhaust itself. I feel like I’m trapped in a giant snow globe. Even when things seem like they’re calming down, the next volley of snowflakes could blanket the world at any time.
As the flurry dies down to a few, sparse flakes, I take in my surroundings. There’s nothing but a sea of snow and snow-covered trees in every direction.
I’m losing my sense of time. There’s still daylight, but the sun is well-hidden behind thick clouds.
I trudge some more.
Melted snow and ice is starting to seep through Jack’s giant boots, soaking my poor feet. I realize that I’m shivering. It wasn’t that cold when I left the cabin, but it’s starting to get unbearable.
I see what looks like a clearing. I don’t know where I’m going, but I might as well start towards that. I lift my leg up and take another step, breaking through a top layer of ice and pushing down through two or more solid feet of snow.
And there it is—a slurry of fresh powder and jagged scraps of ice flood into my boot.
I feel my lower lip pressing against my incisors, my mouth so ready to make an F sound.
“Ffffff…”
I never wanted to swear so bad in my life, but I stop myself. I settle for slamming the backs of my hands against the frozen top layer of ice.
“Ffffffff...”
Gosh, that stings, but I stop myself from swearing again.
Looking down at my freezing, red hands, still lying on the ice, I notice that I’m still carrying Jack’s camera around my neck.
I also notice an unexpected sensation coming from above.
Is that...warmth?
And is that sunshine I see glistening off the crystals of snow and ice?
I lift my hands up from the snow, which is already starting to melt.
I’m still soaked, but I’m not shivering anymore.
I stand up straight and see the blue sky, and sunshine coming from almost directly overhead.
It must still be early in the afternoon, and it’s suddenly much warmer.
Instead of being ready to celebrate my good fortune, I’m worried that dreaming this, or hallucinating, while I’m actually passed out in a snowdrift somewhere.
With each step I take, the revolting sound and feeling of melting slush are there to remind me that I’m still very much in reality.
Wherever I’m going, I’m getting closer to the clearing. But wherever my destination is, it’s further than the few steps I thought hoped it would be.
The sun sinks below the horizon as I trudge along, and the wind is bringing a chill back to the air. If it wasn’t already below freezing before, it is now. Gusts of wind are blowing snow around chaotically.
I put a hand up like a visor over my eyes as I approach a clearing. It’s getting dark faster than I expected it would, making it impossible to see much.
There’s a dense thicket of trees on the other side of the clearing. My goal is to find my way out of the woods, but with the wind violently whipping snow and sleet in every which direction, a shielded spot under some tall trees is starting to seem inviting.
I step into the clearing. The snow is no longer up to my waist, but my oversize boots are full of thawing mush. Pretty soon, it’s going to be like I’m standing in two pools of water.
I don’t want that. In fact, I don’t want to be standing at all for much longer. That grove of trees, just across the clearing, looks like a nice spot for a quick rest.
It can’t be more than fifty feet away, or maybe a hundred. It’s tough judging distances with all this frozen water flying around, not to mention in the dark.
I hold Jack’s camera up, and in a stroke of genius, fumble with the flash before I take a picture. The flash lights up the darkness, illuminating the clearing around me, if only for a second.
It also seems to be swiftly getting darker. It can’t be that late, can it?
What time did I think it was, again? The flash is enough to help me get my bearings and make it a few more feet further in the snow. Plus, I guess this way if I die—which I’m constantly sure I’m going to do out here anyway—at least my last few moments will be documented if anyone develops this film.
Wow, I’m really shivering. I’m also struggling to keep my eyes open. Getting through snow this deep is hard work, and it’s quickly exhausting me.
Flash! Goes the camera as I use it to light my way.
This is ridiculous. How big can these woods be, anyway? I thought I’d find my way to civilization by now—a town, a road, maybe Burlington, or the Ben and Jerry’s factory or something.
Flash!
I thought I’d find my way out of all this. I should’ve kno
wn it wouldn’t be easy.
There’s no time for these self-indulgent thoughts. I feel like I’m about to fall asleep in the middle of this clearing. I can’t let that happen.
Flash!
I start running through the clearing. It’s blustery and bitterly cold, there’s water sloshing around my feet, and my eyelids are getting remarkably heavy—but I need to make it to the clearing before I pass out.
I just need to get back into the woods, then I can doze off, and nap.
I can see the woods, the snow-blanketed pines. It almost looks too perfect, like an old, classic cartoon.
Like a Disney movie.
Flash!
I’m Snow White, fleeing to find refuge in the woods.
But if I’m Snow White, then who’s the Queen? And who’s the Huntsman?
Flash!
Who cares? For a moment, I can see the beautifully drawn forest in front of me. It’s so close, yet just out of reach.
I’m still running, I think. I must be getting my second wind – it’s like I’m flying right into the forest with no effort at all.
Flash!
I wonder which woodland creatures will be there to greet me? They’ll probably be frightened of me at first, but I can win them over with a song.
Flash!
I think the bulb on this camera is dying. When it does, I’ll be truly in the dark. From what I can see, I’m in the forest, but it doesn’t look too enchanted.
I don’t sense any magic in the air, just the same viciously cold air.
And that wind, it doesn’t let up—neither does my shivering.
I collapse onto the forest floor, sitting at first, fighting to keep my eyes open. I can’t fight it any longer, though, the urge to sleep is overpowering.
I collapse again, this time landing face down on the enchanted forest ground. The snow is making a cool, soft pillow to rest my face.
I let my eyes close, relieved to feel the sweet embrace of sleep.
But what’s this? I hear the tippy taps of what could only be an adorable woodland creature approaching.
Enough napping, I feel energized enough by this development.
“Oh, please don’t be frightened,” I say, lifting my head up to get a good look at my new friend. I clear my throat, trying to get my singing voice ready.
